


And All the Time He's Mumbling Truth

by shakespearesque



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Candy, Halloween, M/M, Trick or Treating, sugar!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearesque/pseuds/shakespearesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>(It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d ever made plans to hang out outside of school, or anything. They’d actually had a sleepover and tried skateboarding one time and did a project at the library and rode bikes in the forest behind Derek’s house. This just sounded so date-y, what with the flirting and the nervousness and the “I want to go with you, Derek, let me suck your dick.”)</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Wherein Derek and Stiles go trick-or-treating. There is sugar and unintentional enabling and flirting and boys being boys. Also there are superhero references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All the Time He's Mumbling Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Dead Poet's Society, for reasons my subconscious will not supply to me. 
> 
> Also, guys! I'm hoping for a lot of Halloween fic! Hopefully of higher caliber than this! (And on the 31st day, she said, "Let there be Halloween Sterek.")

They were in biology, and whoever had put them together thinking they’d make good lab partners was probably only 35% coherent. Their incompatibility as lab partners was based on the fact that Stiles could not force himself, no matter how hard he tried, to measure at the meniscus, and Derek just really, really wanted to blow stuff up. Stiles had to constantly remind him that they were in biology and in the ninth grade, not chemistry in graduate school, and that in itself took up quite a significant amount of lab time.

“Stiles, I think if we mix hydrochloric acid with this, it’ll blow up.” Derek was looking excitedly at Stiles across the lab bench, holding up a graduated cylinder full of some thick red liquid. Stiles gently moved Derek’s hand down so that the graduated cylinder was resting solidly on the table.

“No, it will not,” Stiles said patiently. “I think that’s maraschino cherry syrup.”

“Nuh uh, this is, like, zinc oxide or something. I know zinc and hydrochloric acid do something when you put them together. This’ll blow up.”

Stiles sighed at his friend, because he honestly couldn’t tell if he was being stupid on purpose or if he was literally blinded by his desire for explosion. “Zinc oxide is white, Derek.” Derek huffed, and then tried to hide a giggle, and Stiles knew he was just messing with him. He grinned because he couldn’t help it. “You dick, stop screwing around. We have to finish this in fifteen minutes.” 

Derek nodded, smirking to himself, and leaned his head down to read the instructions on his lab paper. “We need 50 milliliters of this stuff. I mean, ahem, _‘Liquid A.’_ ”

Stiles groaned. “You measure it, I’m incapable.” Derek laughed and bent down to look for the 50 milliliter mark.

“Okay,” he said after scrutinizing the graduated cylinder for long enough, pouring 50 milliliters into the beaker. 

“Now what?” Stiles asked, like he couldn’t read the paper himself.

Derek grinned crookedly. “50 milliliters of Liquid B. And C.”

Stiles pouted.

\---

They were at lunch, and their lab had been a success so they were kind of happy about that, and Stiles had pizza and an orange in his lunch and he really liked pizza and oranges so he was happy about that, and Derek was drinking chocolate milk out of a tiny carton, and they were sort of smirking at each other, and Stiles watched in almost slow-motion as Derek suddenly stopped himself, looking away from him with a little crease between his magnificent eyebrows.

Stiles almost wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Maybe something about how magnificent Derek’s eyebrows _were_ , or how the color of his eyes was sort of like mint chocolate chip ice cream sometimes, and now was one of those times. Maybe something about how they’d actually, by definition of the term, been flirting in biology and it wasn’t anything new but it was something they just did. Without thinking about it. And Stiles enjoyed it, but he was terrified that Derek didn’t realize they were flirting and terrified that one day Derek would text him about some girl he liked and they’d have to stop flirting and Stiles would be left literally alone. He kind of wanted to say something like that, but he didn’t. It was a silent thing. An undercurrent that, if brought to the surface, would very possibly explode. Derek liked that sort of thing, but Stiles didn’t. Derek probably wouldn’t like this kind of explosion, though.

“Are you going trick-or-treating tomorrow night?” was what Stiles really asked, and Derek’s eyes widened and he grinned like he wanted to laugh.

“Seriously?”

Stiles laughed once, immediately relieved of his stupid thoughts. “Hell yeah, man! I am milking this last year as a child. I mean, I guess we’re not really children, are we, but we can’t even legally get learner’s permits yet. Well, you can get yours in a couple weeks, but whatever. I’m not old enough to drive so I am definitely still young enough to trick-or-treat.”

Derek’s eyes crinkled into a grin as Stiles babbled on. “Yeah, okay, let’s go,” Derek said.

Stiles stopped, an orange slice halfway to his mouth. “Oh, you want to go?”

“What?” Derek asked, his fingers twitching, suddenly nervous. “I’m not inviting myself, oh, God, I thought you were asking me, sorry.”

Stiles bit into his orange slice hesitantly with the edges of his lips curled up, temporarily indulging himself in watching Derek freak out. “No, I was asking you. I want to go,” he said, finally, smiling reassuringly. (Inside, he freaked out. It sounded like a date, it sounded so much like a date, Stiles’ heart said it was excellent but his brain screamed ABORT.) He set his hands in his lap in case they started to shake when they realized he’d kind of asked Derek out.

(It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d ever made plans to hang out outside of school, or anything. They’d actually had a sleepover and tried skateboarding one time and did a project at the library and rode bikes in the forest behind Derek’s house. This just sounded so date-y, what with the flirting and the nervousness and the “I _want_ to go with you, Derek, let me suck your _dick._ ”)

“Oh. Cool. Okay.” A soft smile appeared on Derek’s face as he twisted open an Oreo. He pried off the top cookie and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. “I don’t have a costume, though,” he said around the cookie, his words all distorted.

“Not a problem,” Stiles, master food-in-the-mouth decipherer, said. “We’ll figure something out. I’m gonna be Spider-Man. He’s the coolest. And it’s not like one of those stupid muscle suits, it’s like a legit Spider-Man suit, pretty much. It’s awesome.”

Derek grinned at him. Stiles tried not to think of it as lascivious but it sort of _was_. Derek looked like he was going to say something, but stopped himself and then said, lightly, “The Spider-Man reboot was pretty awesome.”

Stiles’ entire face lit up like a cartoon character. “I saw it four times,” he breathed. “My dad actually got the manager to ban me from the movie theatre until it was out of the box office.” Derek laughed. “I’m not joking! I actually can’t decide if I’m more in love with Gwen or Peter. I--” He stopped himself. Dammit, Stiles, he thought. Derek was probably jizzing himself over Emma Stone and you’re over here about to throw up Andrew Garfield feelings. 0/10 on the execution scale.

“Same,” Derek said seriously, and Stiles just had to bite half of his pizza into his mouth so as not to reply. Derek was so perfect for him. 

His life sucked.

\---

“So, have you thought of what you want to wear tomorrow night?” Stiles asked Derek as they walked to their buses after school. 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“It’s a good thing you have me, then, because I’ve got endless options.” He adjusted his backpack strap and looked up at the clouds. “Let’s see, you could be a vampire, the Hulk, Harry Potter, a banana, a horse, a vampire, a werewolf, Bella Swan, Sexy Minnie Mouse, Sexy Little Red Riding Hood, Sexy Cinderella—oh that’s redundant, Sexy Witc—“ 

“Stiles.” Stiles stopped naming things and looked up at Derek, who was only a couple of inches taller than him but still seemed imposingly tall. Derek’s eyes were steely. “Those are girl costumes.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles said, nonchalantly, and of course his first thought was that maybe he had unknowingly developed a crossdressing kink. Derek in red lace…um. Maybe. Shit. Um. “Yeah, okay, so I gave you a few male options.”

Derek looked like he was suppressing a smirk. “I think I could be a vampire. I mean, you said it like 47 times.”

“Sure, I did,” Stiles said disbelievingly. He smirked back. “I’ve got vampire teeth, if you need them.” Derek looked distractedly at the line of buses and seemed to locate his. He nodded towards it with his head and Stiles got the idea. 

“Oh, I’ve got some, by the way, thanks,” Derek said, and he spun around in a little pirouette thing before heading off in the direction of his bus. “Bye, Stiles!”

“See you, Der,” Stiles said, and walked towards his own bus.

When he sat down, he slammed his head against the back of his seat. “I am in way too deep,” he groaned.

(It was more sitcom than he usually went for, but still.)

\---

Halloween at school was actually bullshit, and such was the opinion of both Stiles and Derek. Stiles was pretty sure that was why they were friends. He sometimes wondered how they hadn’t known each other until high school, but they’d practically latched onto each other the second day of school and hadn’t let go since, so it was kind of like they were making up for lost time. (Latched onto each other figuratively rather than literally, of course, much to Stiles’ dismay.) 

Stiles had come into school that Halloween Friday with stylistic pumpkin-adorned socks up to his knees and a miniature Kit-Kat bar in his lunchbox. Derek had decided to wear the leather jacket he wore every day.

“Excited for tonight?” Stiles asked in first period English, nudging Derek’s arm. Derek snorted. 

“You look like an idiot.”

“You’re great at answering questions, aren’t you?” Stiles opened his textbook to the page from which they were supposed to be reading. 

“Shh,” Derek said, and Stiles smirked.

Jackson, the asshole kid who sat behind Stiles, kicked his chair leg. “Boyfriends,” he whispered. Stiles immediately felt his ears catch fire and he prayed quickly to the God of Auditory Things that Derek hadn’t heard. Minutes or hours passed and his ears continued to burn, like Jackson had whispered “incendio” instead of…that thing he actually whispered. He then prayed to the God of Ears and Blushing that they’d calm down. Eventually, they did. By then, though, Stiles had read the entirety of Act I of Romeo and Juliet.

\---

He opened the door and fully expected Derek to already be dressed up in his vampire costume. He wasn’t. It was okay, though, because Stiles wasn’t dressed either.

"Why is it already so fuckin' cold--"

"Shhh, my dad!” Stiles whispered tersely, peeking out at the bowing trees and overcast sky. “Jesus, it _is_ cold." He pulled Derek in roughly by the arm and shut the door, holding in a laugh. He looked in a semi-circle around himself for his father, but upon finding the front of the house empty shrugged and let a smile spread across his face. "Fuckin' cold."

"STILES! LANGUAGE!" His dad called in Reprimanding Tone 3 from some unknown location in the house, and Derek snorted. 

"Yeah, Stiles. Watch your mouth." He laughed as Stiles rolled his eyes and led him up the stairs to his bedroom. 

"We should probably get dressed now and then we can go out and pillage and plunder and whatnot," Stiles said, plopping down onto his bed, and Derek set his bag down by the door. 

"You should have been a pirate," he said sarcastically. Oh, man, Derek was learning sarcasm, Stiles thought. He launched a pillow of punishment at Derek’s head and seconds later wished he could retract it. He was an idiot. An overly flirty idiot. Derek had only been in his bedroom 30 seconds and he was _flirting_ with him. Derek didn't seem to care, though, picking the pillow up and flinging it back at Stiles with a cocky grin on his face.

"Jerk," Stiles said, biting back a giggle. (Seriously. Was he turning into one of those bubblegum-popping, hair-twirly cartoon character girls or something?)

"Spider-Man," Derek said in the same tone, smirking at Stiles. 

Stiles felt a rush of lightheadedness overcome him. He was not going to survive the night. He seriously wasn't, what with Derek flirting back and being in his room and _looking_ at him like that, like he couldn't be happier than he was at that moment. It was overwhelming and Stiles almost wanted to ditch the plan and just go trick-or-treating with the kids he used to babysit across the street just so he wouldn't have to feel like this all night. He felt like he was falling interminably down a well, and Derek was the bottom of the well that he may or may not ever hit, and he didn't want to hit the ground because that would hurt, but falling forever was equally as frightening. He sighed audibly and got his Spider-Man costume from his closet. 

"I'm gonna go change in the bathroom, so you can change in here," he said. Derek saluted him as he walked out and Stiles desperately wanted to punch him until all his adorableness leaked out. Dealing with it was getting to be more than difficult. 

Five minutes later Stiles walked back to his room in his costume and he looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. The suit was skintight and flattering in all the right places, and he totally looked like Spider-Man. He knocked on the door (because opening it on a half-dressed Derek would have probably given him a stroke) and Derek opened it wearing a tight black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a silky black cape with red on the underside. Not much better than half-dressed, sweet _Jujubes_. He grinned immediately at Stiles and Stiles almost fainted upon seeing the pointy white fangs in place of his canines. 

"You--" Stiles said, but stopped himself before saying something that might have given his insta-boner away. (Actually, his suit was so tight that it would have given it away, anyway, but Stiles made sure Derek looked only above his shoulders until that was dealt with.)

"You," Derek said in return, a satisfied smirk on his face. "It looks…I like it." 

Stiles snapped out of his haze and nodded excitedly, pushing past Derek into his room. "I've got the mask and everything. Hey, do you want to go soon? It's getting dark." He pointed at the window and Derek grinned self-indulgently at Stiles, void of reaction to the question like he wasn't even listening. Stiles chose to ignore that because he didn’t even want to know what it meant. "Go? Soon?" he tried again, and Derek nodded jerkily, snapping to attention. 

"Yeah, yeah, let's go now, I mean."

Stiles dug around in his closet and emerged with his Spider-Man mask and a triumphant smile. "Okay."

\---

Stiles was actually going to die. Just going to lay down in the gutter in front of that nice old lady’s house on East Eagle Drive and die. 

Several important things had happened in the space of the seven houses to the left of Stiles’. It was barely eight o’clock, and several important things had _already happened_.

First of all, he’d noticed that Derek smelled heavenly. Not like clouds-heaven or angels-heaven or Jesus-heaven or whatever, but like boy-heaven and clean-heaven and _good_. And it was doing negative wonders on his willpower. On second thought, maybe he smelled like hell. Like sin and lust and all the indulgent things in life. _Mmm,_ Stiles thought. _Lust._

Second of all, they’d already passed by Asshole Jackson and his girlfriend, Lydia, and Stiles used to have a big whopping crush on Lydia that everyone still seemed to think he had, so Derek was looking at him expectantly and Stiles was ignoring her short, short princess dress as obviously as possible, and it was so, so terrible. Jackson and Lydia hadn’t seen them, however, so that was a good thing. 

A third important event was that Derek had gotten one of those popcorn ball things from Stiles’ next door neighbor and Stiles had, conversely, not gotten a popcorn ball thing. He was quite sad about that.

Okay, so only three things had happened, and after Stiles ran them over in his head fifteen more times they started to seem less important and he was able to keep himself on his feet rather than succumbing to death in the road. Derek was laughing and joking and talking about the scary movies he liked, and Stiles was laughing along when he felt it appropriate and being kind of distracted by how delicious Derek smelled, and when he calmed himself down (since when did Derek monologue, anyway?) he was able to contribute. The only scary movie he’d seen was Nightmare Before Christmas, though, so Derek laughed fondly at him when he mentioned it and then started listing a bunch of 80’s movies they “needed to watch together.”

“Oh?” Stiles said. He wanted to say, “Us? Me and you? Together?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, excited, “the first Scream movie is awesome, not sure if that’s 80’s though, and the original Nightmare on Elm Street is great, Johnny Depp is in that one. Friday the 13th is classic. There are like 45 sequels. And the original Prom Night. Dude, we should totally—“

Stiles grinned. “Definitely. Educate me in the art of cheesy horror movies.”

Derek grinned back. “Yeah.” 

They walked up to the next house in silence, the one at the very end of Stiles’ street. They walked up to the front porch, shoulders bumping, and in unspoken competition started searching for the doorbell. They seemed to locate it at the same time and both boys glanced at the other, noting the devilish grin on the other’s face, before lunging at it. It rang lowly inside the house and Stiles howled in a (poor) imitation of a wolf. “That was totally me, I so got it!”

“That was me, idiot, my thumb was under yours!”

“No it wasn’t, I felt--!”

“Hi, boys,” said the woman in the threshold of the open door, her voice pinched in smushed-down amusement.

“Hi,” Derek said, abashedly.

“Trick or treat!” Stiles called, unabashedly.

The woman laughed and held out her candy bowl. “Take a few,” she said, and they did. Man, Stiles loved taking candy from people. It was like taking money from them, except not. More edible. And the center of a holiday, even though sort-of-taking-money-from-people could describe almost any holiday. Or any day, ever, really, Stiles thought. Then he stopped thinking because what the hell?

“Thanks!” they said, walking away, and Derek shoved Stiles lightly as they walked off the driveway. 

“I pressed it first,” he murmured. Stiles laughed.

(And so it went, for house and house and house, until it didn’t go like that anymore, and it went a bit like this.)

They saw Jackson and Lydia again. And another boy they knew, Scott, and his girlfriend, Allison. 

“Hi, Stiles!” Allison said brightly, like she did everything. She smiled brightly at Stiles and Stiles smiled back, because Allison was in his Human Geography class and she was pretty and nice and sometimes shared her vocabulary homework with him. She was wearing a vest and combat boots and had sunglasses balanced on her head and a quiver of arrows on her shoulder.

“Hi, Allison!” he said, and then, “Are you Hawkeye?”

She smiled again, that blinding, adorable smile, and nodded. “We’re both Avengers, Spider-Man!”

Scott perked up, peeking around Allison at Stiles and Derek. “Hey, I’m an Avenger, too,” he said, almost defensively. Stiles remembered that Scott was kind of obsessed with Allison and he might have felt territorially threatened at the mention of their similar costumes. Stiles would have laughed at the thought if it wasn’t so depressingly true.

“Which one?” Derek asked, and Stiles stepped around so that he could fully see Scott’s costume.

“Don’t tell me,” Stiles murmured, appraising the boy on Allison’s arm. Suddenly and loudly, he snorted, and Scott frowned. 

“What?” he asked.

“God dammit, are you _Black Widow_?” Stiles asked. 

“We were trying to do a couples costume,” Scott pouted. “Allison was set on being Hawkeye. I--”

“Oh my God,” Stiles said, and Derek beside him shook with silent laughter. “Derek, oh my God, stop. I’m trying really hard not to—”

“Scarlett Johanesson!” Derek howled, and covered his face with one hand before grabbing one of Stiles’ hands in his own and pulling him away and into a run with a firm, “ _Stiles_.” Stiles followed like a Chihuahua would if it had been pulled by the Hulk. Kind of because the ratio of strengths between him and Derek was Chihuahua to Hulk, kind of because he’d follow Derek anywhere he pulled him. Especially if their fingers were linked. And especially _especially_ if he said his name like that, geez.

“Um,” Stiles said, and giggled. Derek let go of his hand when they were on the next street over, softly, reluctantly, Stiles hoped, and sighed, his mouth twitching in restraint of any more laughter. 

“Are Hawkeye and Black Widow even a thing?” Derek asked when he was calmed down, and Stiles’ eyes widened.

“You saw The Avengers,” Stiles said. It was intended to be a question, but Stiles could not force his voice to raise up at the end of it because _everyone had to have seen Avengers._

Derek nodded quickly. “Of course, what kind of monster do you think I am? I was just wondering if that was like a real thing, or what.”

Stiles thought for a second. “I guess, yeah.”

“Should I have dressed up as Gwen Stacy?” Derek asked, suddenly, and then he laughed like he was trying to play it off. Stiles choked, and then laughed, or something. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Nothing,” Stiles said, and then grabbed Derek by the elbow. “Emma Stone wouldn't be a good look on you.” He grinned and pulled Derek up to the front door of the next house.

\---

Lydia opened the door, and it was Derek’s turn to choke on surprise. Or something?

“H-hi, Lydia,” he said, and she forced a smile.

“Hi, Derek. And, um, Spider-Man,” she said, wrinkling her button nose. “Do you go to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles sighed. “It’s Stiles. And yeah.”

Lydia just tossed her curled hair over her shoulder and tugged the hem of her sparkly blue dress downward. “Oh.”

“Babe?” a voice said from just inside the house. “Guys giving you trouble?” Stiles groaned inwardly, recognizing the voice as being that of the king of the holes of the asses. _Fucking Jackson._ They'd literally only been there twenty-five seconds. If Jackson came to the door, Stiles was going to commit— “Oh,” Jackson said, and Stiles was seriously going to curl up into the fetal position. Jackson pulled the door open so that he could stand next to Lydia. “It’s you two.”

Derek frowned, and Stiles gave Jackson his best “shut the fuck up and give me a popcorn ball” look. 

“You know them?” Lydia asked, and Jackson nodded. 

“Yeah, they’re in my English class. Real close friends. _Close_ , like Danny, you know…and me. I mean, more like Danny than me, but. Friends. We’re just friends. Danny and I are just friends, I don’t know about—”

“Jackson,” Stiles said. “Shut the hell up, please.”

Lydia’s lipglossed mouth formed an O. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think you guys should go.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said, shaking himself back to not-thinking about Danny. “Happy Halloween, dorks,” he said, and threw a Tootsie Roll Pop directly into each of their buckets. He had good aim, Stiles would give him that. They then shut the door and Stiles blew a raspberry with his tongue and bumped Derek’s hip with his own.

“That went well,” he said. Stiles Stilinski, master of deflection and understanding what people are saying when they have food in their mouth.

Derek laughed dryly. “You could say that.”

“Or not,” Stiles said, and they went to the next house, ever persevering in the face of oppression.

\---

Eventually they ended up in that one cul-de-sac, the one where only two of the five houses are occupied and it’s scary and Stiles really should have remembered this was the street because he really hated this cul-de-sac.

“Did you know cul-de-sac means ‘bottom of the bag’ in French?” Stiles rambled, filling up the silence. “That kind of works, actually, because I hate this cul-de-sac and I’ve actually got candy to the top of my bag, right now, if you know what I mean. That’s cool. I like that.”

Derek grinned at him, his eyes doing that mint-chocolate-chip thing again in the light of the one functional streetlamp. Stiles had to stop talking for a second to just appreciate his face, then. Derek’s face was so nice, and the black, and the shirt, Jesus—

“God, Derek,” he said hoarsely, accidentally, in the way of his fatal flaw, “do you even know what that shirt’s been doing to me?” And then, shit. Whoops.

“What?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I,” Stiles said, and he grabbed approximately three mini Almond Joys, unwrapped them, and shoved them in his mouth before he would be required to answer. “Shit,” he said, chocolate and spit attempting to waterfall out of his mouth and cover the earth. Derek just stared at him, jaw slack, a bit like he was in awe. Stiles, in his embarrassment-phylactic shock, could not tell whether Derek was in awe of the fact that he had unwrapped the Almond Joys that quickly or that he had managed to fit them in his mouth. He had a big mouth, it wasn’t that hard, he thought. He avoided eye contact with Derek, embarrassed, and saw out of the corner of his eyes Derek rolling his own eyes and turning his lips up slightly in amusement. Stiles winced. Derek was making fun of him. He was such a fucking idiot. 

“Stiles,” Derek said calmly, lips still upturned. “I want you to chew slowly, swallow, and then look at me.”

Stiles didn’t want to do this, because he didn’t want to have to look at Derek. He chewed slowly, slowly, slowly, more slowly, probably, than Derek meant him to chew.

He chewed.

Derek waited.

He kept chewing. He made sure every piece of almond was completely ground up before it was swallowed, every piece of coconut was out from between his molars, every speck of chocolate was totally cleaned off of his lips. Finally, reluctantly, he dragged his eyes up from the concrete to meet Derek’s. 

“Sor--” he started, and Derek shushed him.

“Stiles,” he said. “I’m not sure _you know_ how amazing your ass looks in that suit.” And, fuck. Stiles would be lying if he said any of the following: I did not get a boner, I was not aroused, I expected that, I am a rational human being.

He hadn’t expected that, and his dick did more than twitch in the suit. He felt himself swell slightly and Derek acted like he wasn’t looking, but Stiles heard him suppress a groan and look deliberately upward and, oh, God, now what. Stiles tried to block it with his pumpkin bucket. They were both already aware, though, and Derek smirked. He smirked.

He smirked, and he dug around in his pillowcase of candy, and then looked up at Stiles. “Do you want to share a Fun Dip with me?”

Stiles was supposed to be embarrassed and nervous, so he bit down on the laugh that bubbled up and threatened his lips and he raised an eyebrow instead. “Is it cherry?”

Derek pulled it out of the bag and held it up to his face, unable to keep his own smirk down. “Yeah, man.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said. He pulled Derek over to one of the vacant driveways by the functional streetlamp and they sat down next to each other. 

“Here,” Derek said, and he tore it open and held out the little white stick. Stiles shook his head. 

“You first.” He allowed himself a teasing grin. Derek raised his eyebrows, pleased, and licked a line straight up the stick. Stiles almost laughed again, this time at Derek’s blatant lasciviousness, but his subconscious instead found that arousing, telling Stiles that tongues could do many more things than lick sugar sticks. Stiles told his subconscious to not. His subconscious told him that that was the reason he told Derek to go first, and he was just like, touché, subconscious.

Derek stuck the stick into the powder, pulled it out, and licked it again, all over, up, down, around, sticking it in his mouth and pulling it out, never breaking eye contact with Stiles, and finally Stiles pushed him on the shoulder, grinning. “Dick.”

Derek winked. (Stiles hadn’t known he was this dirty. He was pleasantly surprised.) He handed over the stick and Stiles reached over and stuck it into the pink powder before shoving it straight into his mouth, running his tongue all around it, the sour-sweet taste of the sugar mixing with the thrill Stiles got from thinking about how Derek’s mouth had just been in the same exact place, and he really should not have been that turned on by Fun Dip.

Stiles pulled it out with a pop and licked his lips, and Derek groaned again, and Stiles felt that right in the boner.

This was not conducive to proper behavior.

Derek took the stick back and licked it once before even sticking it into the powder, and Stiles could have tackled him right there. He was being such a tease. Frankly, Stiles was already bored of the Fun Dip and wanted Derek’s tongue somewhere directly on his body. He let Derek live out the Fun Dip fantasy, though, and sucked the sugar off when it was his turn and watched Derek when it was his turn and by the end he just wanted to go somewhere else and touch Derek, but he couldn’t, and he should have actually stopped thinking about that fifteen minutes ago because the skintight suit hid next to nothing.

Derek smirked like the dick he was when they stood up to walk back to Stiles’ house, but he took Stiles’ hand as they were walking and that was nice. Stiles liked that. 

Stiles also had a feeling he wouldn’t hate this cul-de-sac so much anymore. Not for a while, at least.

\---

“Did you guys have fun?” Stiles’ dad asked as soon as they walked in the door. They weren’t holding hands, and Stiles’ semi had gone down, so he had no reason to feel assaulted by the question, but he did, so he just brushed it off.

“Yeah, dad, we’re gonna go upstairs and inventory our candy, though, goodnight!” Stiles walked determinedly towards the staircase, Derek trailing behind.

“Okay,” his dad said, watching them climb the stairs. “Save the Milk Duds for me!” 

“Gross,” Stiles said, and Derek chuckled once, deeply. They reached the top of the stairs and Stiles pushed his bedroom door open, turning. He was only turning to ask Derek a question (“Are you sle--oh!”), only turning, but he was instead pulled gently inside the room and trapped up against the wall, and suddenly Derek was kissing him and moaning lowly in his throat and Stiles was caught off-guard and holyfuckingshit Derek was moaning and pressing his hips up against Stiles’, and Stiles—Stiles was keening in his throat, and Derek pulled back.

“Your dad can hear,” he said, grinning, “Shhh.”

Stiles frowned, wanting Derek on him again, literally apathetic towards anything and everything else. “Dude. You. I. No.” He squirmed, biting his lip and silently begging Derek to go back to kissing him.

Derek smirked again, closed his eyes and laughed quietly to himself. “Fuck,” he breathed. He caged Stiles in with both of his arms and kissed him again, like he was supposed to, bringing one hand up to Stiles’ cheek and pressing his thumb to his chin. Stiles opened his mouth and, whoa, God, Derek’s tongue. It was still a bit cherry-flavored and slick and warm and delicious and it flicked up against the inside of Stiles’ top lip and yes. More yes, because Derek was still moaning, and Stiles could _feel_ it, and he rocked his hips up once and Derek moaned again, crowding his whole body against Stiles’. God. Stiles had to reach down and press the heel of his palm into the crotch of the suit for a bit of relief. He felt a little bit like he was going to explode.

“Derek,” he whined, and Derek kissed Stiles’ neck.

“Stiles,” he said teasingly, fondly. His voice had cracked, though, so Stiles knew he was just as far gone. 

He pulled Derek’s face back up to his and kissed him again, deeply, needing. Derek let his hands settle on Stiles’ hips and he reeled him in, pressing his thigh to Stiles’ groin and rocking upward. “Mmm,” Derek groaned, and Stiles thought he was going to lose his fucking _mind_. “Weeks,” Derek murmured, voice gravelly. “I have thought about this for _weeks_.” Derek punctuated this with a slow grind and Stiles keened in his throat again.

“Derek, I am going to make a mess of myself if you keep doing—ah—doing that, so please—ohshit—oh, fuck.” He let his head thunk back against the wall and tried desperately not to come. Derek was still rocking his hips into Stiles’ and kissing him sloppily, barely making his lips, and Stiles was on the edge, literally on the fucking edge. One more grind, and—“Oh _God_ ,” all breathy and Stiles’ mouth dropped open even more obscenely and he relaxed against the wall and Derek just about lost it right there too.

“God dammit, Stiles,” Derek said, pressing a hand firmly against the distended crotch of his jeans. Stiles whimpered. He watched Derek palm himself less than a minute before he was coming, too, and he had never seen a hotter thing in his life. Not even on that one website that claimed to be the home of the hottest things in life. 

They were quiet for a minute, breathing, coming down, and then Derek started giggling. And Stiles giggled, too, and it built up because _Jesus Christ_ they’d just made each other come, and then Derek was full-out laughing and Stiles was clutching his stomach and sliding down the wall, and Derek sat on the floor, too, and they kissed again, once, grinning.

“Shit,” Stiles said, smirking at Derek. Derek smirked back.

“I think I deserve a Tootsie Roll Pop for that, what do you say, Stiles?” he grinned because it was more effort to stop than to keep grinning and Stiles nodded with a matching grin on his face.

“I think I also deserve a Tootsie Roll Pop,” he said, and reached over for their candy bags. He tossed the pillow case to Derek and slid his pumpkin bucket to the space between his legs. (Now that he was down from his orgasm and not laughing, he was extremely conscious of the feeling of the come that was very possibly staining his Spider-Man suit. Oh well.) They dug through their bags for the lollipop from Jackson, both smiling to themselves.

Stiles unwrapped his, and then Derek unwrapped his, and they stuck them into their cheeks and smirked at each other. Stiles actually tried to stop smirking after a few seconds of this, because his cheeks were hurting a little bit and he was getting really tired, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because he felt a sort of relief in the fact that Derek had wanted to kiss him, too, and he also felt a little bit stupid because he could have done something weeks ago, but, really, he mostly felt happy. And sated. Sexually. So for that reason, he couldn’t stop smiling.

Derek seemed the same, glancing at Stiles every few seconds with a little grin on his face, the Tootsie Roll Pop making one cheek puff out like a chipmunk’s. He pulled the lollipop out and licked his lips. “I’m tired,” he said suddenly, dazedly.

Stiles reached from his place on the floor and pulled the comforter off of his bed, tossing it over Derek’s head. Derek laughed from underneath it.

“Mm, I’m tired, too,” Stiles murmured decisively, staring at the Derek-shaped, comforter-covered protrusion in the middle of his bedroom floor. Derek peeked out from under it and Stiles yawned. 

“Pillows,” Derek said, and Stiles pulled the two pillows off his bed and passed them to Derek. “You,” Derek said, then, and Stiles snorted, taking the Tootsie Roll Pop out of his mouth and crawling underneath the blanket.

“Dork,” he said fondly.

“Happy Halloween, dork,” Derek said back, smirking.

They fell asleep sometime after stripping down to their boxers, having crashed from their sugar highs, both warm in their little tent, both warm in their thoughts.

-


End file.
